Hunting Happiness
by athenasdragon
Summary: The masquerade ball from Hunt's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

_Generic female director OC wearing "A Study in Scarlet"_

* * *

Hunt leaned against the bar and slipped the stiff navy mask over his face. While the outside was silken and shiny, the seams and edges of the silver braid on the inside were immediately irritating. Unfortunately, he would have to keep the damned thing on. At least no one would recognize him; maybe he could avoid any conversation the entire evening.

He settled back onto the barstool, picking up his glass and sipping at the peaty scotch. Laphroaig, he thought. It carried a strong, distinctive flavor, just edging on unpleasant. He took a larger draught and allowed the heavy taste to burn down his throat. As he put the glass to his lips for another long drink, he nearly choked when he saw the figure at the top of the stairs.

It was M/C, that much was certain. The strapless red dress she wore was exquisite in and of itself, and the person inside it only made it more so. It was bold and daring, yet startlingly feminine, paired with impressive black heels and a scarlet and gold mask. She looked around the ball like she was queen of it, sweeping the swirling jewel-toned dancers with her gaze before apparently making up her mind and stepping down the stairs.

Straight towards him.

Hunt hunched back over his drink, hoping he had not been recognized. Leaving the tickets out in plain sight had been a mistake, he thought, before correcting himself. What were the chances she was here because of him? One of her many admirers had probably invited her. Chris Winters, perhaps, or that over-eager Ethan kid who paid so little attention in his class.

"You look like you could use some company," a clear voice said.

He looked up to see M/C standing directly in front of him. Her date was nowhere to be seen, but a crystal champagne flute hung delicately from her fingers. "Depends on whose company it is," he said pointedly and tried to conceal a swallow. His mood was poor enough already, and he didn't need his most promising student flaunting herself in front of him for her own entertainment. If it wasn't for the crowd of Hollywood stars stifling them, he might have snapped at her.

M/C and her games. If there was one thing he wished he could teach her, it was that her career was not a game—and neither were relationships. Apparently she wasn't interested in hearing either from him.

She smiled a little half-smile, an expression she had never directed at him before. "You're in luck. It's mine." Usually her face showed annoyance or even outrage when he was around. This new emotion, this playful confidence, made him long to pretend he didn't recognize her and just have fun at one of these damned things for once.

_Good Lord_, he realized with a start. _She thinks I don't recognize her._ Without stopping too long to question precisely why she thought that a slip of fabric across the eyes would conceal her face, voice, and mannerisms, he snapped out a few terse words: "I have no interest in socializing with a complete stranger."

Her grin faltered and she shifted her drink to her other hand. "You don't mince words, do you?" Now a hint of her characteristic defensiveness rose to the surface, her chin jutting out and a raised eyebrow certainly concealed behind the elaborate gold embroidery on her mask.

"I prefer to be honest." Now they were back on familiar territory. He tipped his glass to the sky, draining it. He could almost pretend that he had brought her here as an assignment and was criticizing her outfit or her choice of dance partner.

"I like that." That brash hardness which always served her so well was gone once more to be replaced with soft flattery.

For the second time that evening, Hunt made a small choking noise in the back of his throat. He disguised it with a slightly more dignified cough. "Are you sure?" This was it. The tipping point in the conversation. Whatever he said next would determine how the whole evening would go, how far he would go for M/C with the understanding that she was probably just enjoying watching him flounder. "Because I can be very honest," he blurted with a neutral expression before these thoughts had even materialized properly. He cursed himself silently as M/C effortlessly picked up the conversation where he had so awkwardly dropped it.

"Honesty's refreshing. One thing I've learned since I've been here…" Her fingers played with the stem of her glass and he realized that her nails were the same gold as the detailing on her mask and studded with silver flecks like the bubbles in the champagne. "Too many people are willing to lie to your face or cheat to get ahead."

"And you're not one of them?" Hunt asked sarcastically, trying to recover what little grasp he had on the conversation.

"No, not yet at least." That smile again. He suddenly recognized where he had seen it: on M/C's face as she stood beside the cast of _Clash at Sunset _in that farce of a press release, clearly hating Bianca Stone and run ragged from trying to get the movie together on schedule. That smile was beautiful and a little bit terrifying because it meant that she knew exactly what she wanted and was well on her way to getting it.

"So, you do want to get ahead?" It wasn't really a question, but he might as well keep up the charade of not knowing her.

"I want to be a household name—to be a famous director!"

"Here's some more truth for you," Hunt began, still trying to find the familiar rhythm of their usual spiteful interactions. "Everyone wants to be something. But not everyone here is going to succeed."

"I will." And just for a brief moment, he knew that he had ceased to exist. She was seeing it, actually _seeing_her brilliant career, and it made her face light up like the sunrise. Damn her.

"You're brash, naïve, and overly confident. I used to be that way, before…"_Before I got involved with Priya Singh, before I trainwrecked my own career, before I got roped into teaching, before reality caught up with me_. There was one reason he and M/C shouldn't be talking—_flirting_—like this, as though the list wasn't long enough already: his career was effectively over. She was a rising star. The rising sun. As superior as he liked to act, he knew there was no way he could keep up with her. "Ahem. Excuse me. I'm Thomas. And you are?"

M/C's lips opened for a fraction of a second, closed, and then smiled widely. "Someone who doesn't like to reveal all her secrets. It's a masquerade ball, after all."

"You don't have to be so coy," Hunt bristled. "I don't need a name to figure out who you are. Or anyone in this room, for that matter."

"But they're all wearing masks. How do you know who anyone is?" M/C asked, obviously trying to call his bluff.

"Years spent analyzing the nuances of physicality and behavior," he said smoothly. It was only half a lie—why should he reveal that he had once auditioned for the role of Sherlock Holmes and spent a month beforehand learning how to actually perform incredible deductions, only to be turned down for his robotic acting and lackluster accent? "For example, that woman over there in the pink dress is Paris Hilton."

M/C gaped, even though he had offered up no proof whatsoever. "How-"

"Her distinctive laugh," Hunt interrupted impatiently, thinking that this much at least would be obvious. "And the man next to her is Daniel Craig. He has a slight limp from his injury on the set of _Spectre_."

"Those are easy," M/C said, turning back to him after a moment of observing the dancers in question. He could hear her taking mental notes as clearly as the scratch of her pen in his class. "Let's give you a harder challenge…"

"I'm up for it," he said, beginning to enjoy this game in spite of himself. If all went well, he and M/C would continue this odd discussion for a while longer—the end of the dance itself would provide a last-resort escape—without her ever "revealing" herself to him, and they could both resume their lives as usual come Monday morning classes.

"Do you know who I am?"

Hunt started, thinking that she had picked up on his ruse, but no. She only wanted another deduction. "I've been wondering that the moment you arrived," he said, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Something about you is familiar, almost _loathsome_, yet at the same time, forgive me, _attractive_." That sentence had not gone at all where he had intended.

"'Cause that was the insulting part…" M/C muttered to herself, still clearly pleased with his evaluation. She had a touch of arrogance, he had to admit, not that he himself could claim exemption from that flaw.

"You're not going to tell me who you are, are you?" Hunt asked, not quite sure which answer he was looking for.

M/C grinned and took a first sip of her champagne. "Maybe at the end of the night. Unless you're planning on leaving early…?"

"No," he found himself promising rashly. "No, I'm not."


	2. Chapter 2

Polite applause rippled through the dancers as the orchestra paused, then picked up a slow, smooth waltz. M/C placed her champagne flute on the bar and smiled happily. "We should dance."

A little flutter of panic jolted through Hunt's chest. "Oh no," he said hurriedly. "I don't dance with just anyone."

"No one's good enough to dance with you, is that it?" She was still flirting, but there was an edge beneath the teasing,

He cleared his throat. "That's precisely it."

"But is it possible that I'm an exception?"

_You always are_. That strange sensation had migrated to his stomach, which felt like it was doing somersaults. She really wasn't going to let him get out of this one. "Possible? Yes. Likely? No."

"The alternative is I walk away from you…and then you'll never learn who I am."

_That would probably be best_, he thought bitterly, _but it's too late for that. _"You drive a hard bargain."

"Does that mean I've won?"

He examined her piercing eyes through the slits of her mask. She had won a long time ago.

Hunt slipped off the barstool and straightened up, bracing himself for whatever madness was coming. He brusquely buttoned his suit coat.

"Try to keep up."

He led M/C onto the crowded dance floor. They pushed past Paris Hilton in her pink dress and a few other noteworthy stars, but M/C showed admirable focus and didn't stop to chat. When they were in the center of the ballroom, just in front of the pristine orchestra, Hunt abruptly stopped walking and spun to put his arm around her waist.

Surely she could feel his hammering pulse through his fingertips as she lightly rested her hand atop his; surely she could feel his unsteady breathing where she gripped his shoulder just a little too tightly. Her eyes were wide behind her mask.

"Nervous?" he managed to ask above the gentle music and the rustling of dresses around them.

She jumped a little at being spoken to. "Huh?"

"If you're nervous, this dance will be over before it even begins." This was as much to himself as to M/C. Why on earth did she affect him this way?

"I'm _not_ nervous."

"Prove it." Why was he doing this? Why was he encouraging her?

"Fine…"

M/C's hands slid slowly lower and lower until—

"Oh!" That was unexpected. Not entirely unwelcome, but certainly unexpected. He found his boundaries being pushed further and further back as the evening progressed.

She smiled evilly. "Hope you don't mind…"

Hunt cleared his throat. "Please remove your hands."

"Oh, sorry…"

"Although your bravado is impressive, we _are_ in public at the moment." _We are in public. We are in public. We are in public._

"Duly noted."

M/C's hands moved to rest on the small of his back and Hunt stepped forwards, forcing her to move back. Then he swung to the side, pulling her gently with his hands so that she spun around him. It took her just seconds to catch his rhythm and synchronize their steps perfectly. They swept around the dance floor, navigating the other couples and trying to avoid staring into each other's eyes.

"Hmmm… you're not completely horrible at this," Hunt said, surprised in spite of himself. He knew that M/C was a skilled writer and director, and even an actress in a pinch, but it had never occurred to him that she could dance.

He looked around to see that they were suddenly dancing in a large empty space in the center of the floor. The couples around them had stopped to watch them dance, him with his rigid, stately motions and M/C with her graceful footwork.

He leaned in to speak quietly in her ear. A strand of hair was stuck to the faint sheen of sweat developing on her neck in the stuffy room. "In fact, it seems that your talents have attracted the attention of the entire ballroom."

She looked up at him and smiled. "It's all in the leading."

Hunt involuntarily tightened his grip on her waist. "Normally I'd agree, but in this case… you're the mesmerizing one." Why. Why was he still speaking? Why was he still dancing?

M/C looked slightly startled. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"What?" Now it was Hunt's turn to be startled. Was she suddenly going to stop pretending to be someone else? Perhaps now she was going to act as though they had both been acting like themselves the entire evening.

"Er… that's the nicest thing you've said _tonight_!"

_Well you are, indeed, mesmerizing,_ he almost said, but managed to keep this at least from slipping out. He was losing himself too quickly.

Fortunately, they were given an excuse to end their conversation as the music crescendoed and increased in tempo. The two of them spun faster and faster before their impromptu audience and the room blended into smears of gold lights and bright dresses.

"Keep to my tempo, or you'll fall behind," Hunt urged, giddy with the speed of their dancing and smiling in spite of himself. In a burst of spontaneity he spun M/C out at arm's length until only their fingers were connected. And then he let go.

"Oh!" she said as she slid almost to a stop and looked for a long second at his proffered hand. Hunt held his breath along with the audience, suddenly irrationally fearful that she might dash off without him. His fingers twitched in the heavy almost-silence.

And then her hand had gripped his, her grasp as firm as her businesslike handshake, and he spun her back into his embrace for the last few bars of the song. He dipped her on the last long note and she lay curved across his arm, her chest heaving. He too was breathless, though he could not tell whether it was from the exertion or from watching her dance all evening. With a last glance at her shining, parted lips, he brought her upright and let his hands fall to his sides.

"Not bad."


	3. Chapter 3

The crowd of celebrities clapped enthusiastically as Hunt waited for his head to stop spinning. He managed to lean down and whisper in M/C's ear without overbalancing. "You learn quickly. I wish you were one of my students." He smiled a little to himself. It would indeed be nice if M/C's normal self could be replaced by this mysterious, flirtatious person with whom he did not have a long, antagonistic relationship. Although, if he didn't know it was M/C, and if that relationship wasn't there, he had to admit that this would be a lot less fun.

"So… you're a teacher?" M/C asked.

"I— I suppose I can't back out of that one," Hunt answered, still playing the game. It was much too late to back out now. "Yes, I teach at a local university."

Another slow waltz started up. It had an irregular tempo that made dancing difficult, but by pulling M/C close—he told himself that was why he did it—he still managed to sweep her along in time. They fell into a comfortable rhythm.

"Any interesting students?" M/C asked lightly.

How had she still not realized that he knew? Her acting was just as good as her directing but she was dropping hints like a breadcrumb trail. "Most of my students are mediocre at best, but there's one… M/C…" Her eyes lit up a little at the sound of her name and he smirked as he realized what he was going to say. "From day one, M/C was the most insubordinate, disrespectful, infuriating—"

"Wait, wait, wait," M/C interrupted before he could pick up too much steam, her steps faltering. "This M/C must have some redeeming qualities, right? It seems to me like there's more to this student than what you're saying. Doesn't M/C have passion?" Her mouth was set in a hard line

"I suppose M/C is passionate…" Hunt admitted, realizing that that particular word had never occurred to him. _Passionate._ Yes, the word expressed the mixture of hard determination and bubbly enthusiasm which M/C radiated. "I've never seen anyone care so much about school projects since, well, me. And I admit, passion is important in this town. Without it, you can burn out like that." He emphasized his point with another spin, less dramatic than the first but equally unexpected. He caught a glimpse of M/C's self-satisfied smile as she twirled away from him, still perfectly in time, and it was gone by the time she was back in his arms.

"But I digress. M/C is just a student, and I'd much rather focus on you at the moment." _Or this alternate version of you_, he added silently. He wanted to keep pretending.

"No arguments there!" she agreed with alacrity.

The waltz ended and they stepped apart, Hunt bowing stiffly and M/C with a graceful curtsey. Then the orchestra picked up a lively tune with barely a pause. An enthusiastic murmur spread through the crowd as the dancers began assembling into two lines.

"It looks like we're doing a group dance. Follow my lead," Hunt said quickly as the people around them began dancing. He gripped M/C's waist tightly, then her hands as they stepped around each other, then her waist again so that he could guide her through the complicated footwork. She laughed brightly at her own missteps and followed his lead as well as she could. Her laughter was contagious and soon he too was smiling. "One, two, three… one, two, three… now switch!" And with a flick of his wrists, his confused student was stumbling towards her next dance partner: a tall man in a graphite grey suit.

"Oh!" she exclaimed through her giggles as she seized the man's hands. Hunt looked up at his partner, a redhead who towered over him in her heels. Her face was half-concealed by a pale pink mask with black lace.

"Um, hello," he heard M/C say uncertainly to his right.

As the dance went on Hunt lost track of all his partners' faces. Each time he turned he glanced around to look for M/C's figure. Sometimes he found her, her black and scarlet skirt swinging above her long legs as she masterfully executed the dance which had made her stumble a few minutes before. Sometimes she was lost in the midst of the swirling dresses.

When the music finally faded away Hunt was surrounded by strangers. He bowed distractedly to his last partner—a woman with emerald hair but a surprisingly plain black dress—and set off in a halfhearted attempt to find M/C.

How terrible would it be to just leave? He had made his donation, he had danced with M/C, he had even enjoyed himself, albeit briefly. He could leave now and go back to his flat to gulp down another glass of scotch before—what? Reading another chapter of the dry historical analysis he had started the previous week? Watching television interviews with celebrities and only being able to see M/C sitting in their places, some years in the future and wildly successful?

A bitter taste rose on the back of Hunt's tongue. No, he was having a good time, damn it, and he was going to continue doing so. He jumped a little when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "What?" He spun to see M/C, looking slightly taken aback at his abrupt reaction. "Oh, there you are. I was looking for you after the dance." _Or I was going to._

"But I found you first," M/C said with more than a hint of pride. "It was easy enough to… what did you say earlier? 'Analyze the nuances of your physicality and behavior.' I simply trusted my instincts."

"Very impressive," Hunt commented drily. But before his nervousness or his sarcasm could run away with him, he reached out and gently took M/C's hand. "Come with me."

Hunt threaded his way through the crowded ballroom, feeling the slight pull of M/C's hand behind him. He glanced back once to make sure that she was still following, and she gave him a quick smile and tightened her grasp. His heart stuttered and he was sure not to look back again; he felt like Orpheus leading Eurydice from the underworld. Finally, they reached a small balcony. Hunt pulled M/C out through the French doors and then eased them shut behind her.

The sun had just set and the sky was a deep lavender. The ocean stretched out away from them, indigo waves rolling restlessly and occasionally reflecting a streak of pink or orange. A cool sea breeze blew steadily, causing M/C to cross her arms, but they both stood in silence for a minute or so as dusk fell around them. Muted laughter and conversation melded into the general susurrus of the evening.

When he had successfully swallowed his cowardice, Hunt raised his hands to untie the fine string which secured his mask. It came away easily in his hand and for a moment all he cared about the way the brisk air felt against his warm face. Then he turned to face M/C. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all," she said softly. It wasn't a flirtation as he had feared, not a shallow comment on his jawline or nose. He was "revealing" himself, and she did not mind. She would probably do the same in a minute. He still had not decided what he would do.

Not even the sounds of the party penetrated the following silence. There was only the crashing of the surf on the rocks beneath the balcony.

"So tell me, Thomas…" M/C eventually said, her voice still quiet. Why did her almost-whispers send shivers down his spine? "Is this masquerade living up to your expectations?" Her voice never did this to him when she was sassing him in class or on set.

Hunt could only stare at her for a minute while chose his words. "It has exceeded them many times over."

"That must be a first."

"Indeed it is…" For a social event, in any case. If there was one person who consistently defied his expectations it was her. In a flash of impulsiveness Hunt grabbed both of M/C's hands. She looked up at him, a gentle smile playing across her lips in the shadow of the evening. "You are definitely the best part of the night. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. I can sense something about you, a connection…"

And he did. From the first time she had strode into his class, obviously inexperienced beyond belief and yet so full of confidence, he had seen himself in her. But she had the determination and steadfast confidence to make a career last rather than burning out in one terrible flare of popularity. She was forging friendships to last a lifetime, building skills that would serve her well wherever in Hollywood she found herself, and yet taking daring risks which were advancing her reputation in leaps and bounds.

"I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I just met, but I can't seem to stop myself," Hunt admitted in a great rush as all of these thoughts presented themselves to him in a jumbled sense of admiration. She was suddenly pressed flush against him and his arms were around her waist. She was everything that he used to be and more, and all too soon she would surpass him. He knew that. His chest clenched in a way that made it suddenly difficult to breathe.

He brushed three fingertips against her cheek, tilting her head up so that their eyes were locked. _She is too good for you_. The thought finally solidified into something he could express, a reason for all of his confused resentment.

Hunt took a deep breath and leaned forward in a swift movement before his rational thought could catch up. She jutted out her chin at the last second so that their mouths collided rather harder than he had expected, her soft lips crushing against his thin ones as a rush of adrenaline tore through him. His arm around her waist tightened and he moved the other one to wrap behind her shoulders, pulling her as close to him as possible.

They held that position for what seemed like several minutes. The distant crackle of fireworks heralded the end of the sunset and a few people down on the beach whooped and applauded. M/C sighed happily against his mouth as their lips lazily fought. She was just as adept at kissing as she was at dancing. She was… intoxicating.

All too soon Hunt pulled back, doubt and regret already reaching their cold fingers into his warmed heart. How in hell's name was he going to recover from this? He needed to know whether this alter ego of hers was going to remain, or whether he had kissed the M/C he knew.

Hoping that she could read the layered nuances of his question, he gulped. "Please… I have to know who you are…"

"There's only one way to find out," she said quietly, and he knew that she was preparing herself for the worst. Because he had always yelled at her, always criticized, always expected more than she could reasonably give. She thought that this was her last moment as a mysterious stranger rather than a hated student—and to a certain extent, she was right.

But he never hated her.

He held her gaze with his, wishing that he could apologize without revealing that he knew her. His arms lifted slowly and deliberately of their own volition to undue the cord which held her mask in place. She tilted her head up. The contours of her face were illuminated by the continued bursts of red and gold down the beach, and she was beautiful.

Hunt breathed in. He exhaled. He drew his mouth in to a snarl and lowered his eyebrows. "M/C! How dare you?"

"What?" she asked, her mouth falling open.

"You lied to me! You deceived me! You… seduced me!" he spat bitterly.

M/C's expression hardened. "Oh please! Some part of you knew it was me!" She threw out her hands expressively. "Even if you didn't consciously know it, deep down you hoped it was me! You wanted it to be me!"

"Ha! Why would I want you to be someone I despise? Someone I don't respect?" Hunt forced himself to take a step back. "You're the last person I'd want to see behind that mask."

M/C stepped forward, matching him. "And what about the fact that up until two seconds ago, you were completely into me? You fell for me! There was nothing clouding your judgment then, just your raw feelings. Admit it!"

It was a struggle to find words to respond. She was completely correct. "There's nothing to admit. This argument is pointless. I can't be involved with a student."

"Can't? Or won't?"

_Neither, you stubborn idiot. _"I meant what I said."

"Then I guess this is goodbye." M/C grabbed her mask out of his hands and spun on her heel, starting to stride away, but Hunt panicked. He jogged after her and grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" She turned to look at him, eyes shining with unshed angry tears. Didn't she understand why this wasn't possible? "Just… just wait, M/C."

Hunt leaned towards her and she tilted her chin so that they were looking directly at each other. Images flickered through his head, the result of each frightening. Kiss her—and be forced to deal with the consequences. Apologize—and lead her on when he knew that this couldn't work.

He straightened and stepped back, trying desperately to throw his walls back up even as his face became neutral.

"Professor?" M/C asked, cautious.

"We can't cross this line." His throat constricted. "Forget this happened. Nothing changes."

"What are you saying? That this whole night was a mistake?" Her bold exterior was slipping further and further. Maybe this really wasn't a game to her. Maybe there was some kind of foundation here—

"You're still my student. I'm still your professor." _And this is for the best._

M/Cgestured as though brushing away his words. "I know that! But was it a mistake?"

There was no answer. He may have connected with someone more deeply than he had in years, but then again he should never have allowed it to happen. As though his last romantic relationship had not been warning enough, now he was falling for one of his students.

He was falling for her.

He turned and began walking away.

"Answer me!" The words sounded almost desperate. He had never seen M/C this unguarded. His shoulders stiffened as he realized that there was no way to make this a clean break. He had to give her some small idea of what he felt, or else he would never live down the regret. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

"I didn't say that…"

He didn't look back again—physically, anyway. He already knew that he would be analyzing his actions and words and thoughts for weeks or months or years. The only way he would sleep that night was after several drinks.

M/C's long sigh was cut off as the French doors swung shut behind him.


End file.
